r/BodySwapMemes

From my pov, the way body swap stories in regular media is that its often depicted as a narrative device(mostly cuz it is)and its also considered funny or silly. it rarely paints them in another light such as scary(like Freaky 2021). Since body swap porn where the victim of the swap suffers psychologically, and dramatizes it. Is there a medium(novel, videos, movies, shows)out there that’s like; A mean but beautiful woman swaps bodies with an undesirable man, and then she suffers for like a majority of the story and the man is just having the time of their life? Just ignore me:p

(Note: this may be where my writing and a lot of people’s preferences may diverge more distinctly, so I want to put that out there in order to avoid disappointment! Please feel free to scroll on by if this isn’t your thing. ^_^ Oh, and this is about ten months in.)

The day keeps replaying in my mind and I don’t know where to put it. I guess I just needed to get it off my chest, but something happened a few days ago.

Claire and I were walking down Main Street together, my hands shoved in my pockets and my shoulders drawn down in defeat.

“You don’t believe me.”

The one chance I took at truth was knocked down. But could anyone blame her?

“I believe that you believe you’re Ryan.”

She thought I had created some delusion in my mind to disassociate from Craig’s bullshit. I told her the truth a month ago and we’d spoken about this endlessly. Why was “Ryan” suddenly so feminine? (Because “he” had been in the closet his whole life and finally came out.) Why was I suddenly so masculine? (Gender is only secondary, it’s okay for anyone to be masculine.) Not sure why the sudden, simultaneous change didn’t ring any bells, but I guess, “Tina and I magically switched bodies because Craig roofied our drinks, rewrote reality, and now he’s trying to mold me into a Stepford Wife” doesn’t sound all that probable.

Claire glanced over at me. Her eyes, amber in the sunlight, searched me. She knew the defenses people build when they’re hurt; she just hadn’t seen anything like this before. I flinched when she reached over and touched my arm. Not because I didn’t want her to. God, I did. But I wasn’t supposed to. She was straight, I had Tina’s body, and Claire had already met enough liars. I used to be one of them.

We passed a storefront and I caught a glimpse of us. Two pretty women walking down the street, one with a big ass rock on a finger that I wanted to chop off.

And she was my friend. She didn’t believe I was a guy abruptly shoved into a female body. She believed I was a woman dealing with trauma, and I couldn’t even blame her for that.

“I’m serious,” her voice broke through my thoughts. “Craig is hurting you and you’re coping. I just…” she tilted her head, softening, “I don’t think you swapped bodies, Tina. You are who you are, and Craig can’t take that away from you. You’ll get out.” She was talking about domestic violence, not existential violation. “We’re going to figure this out and you’ll be free.”

I scoffed. She had no fucking idea. She wasn’t malicious or condescending. It was much worse than that: she felt bad for me, the supposed trauma-bonded victim grasping for a different reality and, worse, I kind of was.

My phone buzzed. It was Craig.

Claire went on talking, explaining how much she respected me and how I deserved better. She spoke as if I was merely dealing with a guy that tracked my location and checking account rather than tearing up the very fabric of my existence and taking a massive dump on it. Tina was right. Craig was changing.

“What?” I snapped into the phone. I was sick of his shit.

“Well that’s no way to talk to your fiancé,” Craig said in a reminder of proper Stockholm Syndrome etiquette.

“What do you want?”

“I want you,” he said simply. “Where are you?”

“I’m out.”

“With her?”

Craig identified Claire as a threat. All friends were threats, because they exhumed the Ryan buried beneath the contrivance.

“You should stop surrounding yourself with people who don’t get us,” he said. Funny, because I WAS one of the people that didn’t “get” us.

We went back and forth for a second about how I was irrational, as usual. He beat around the bush with his mind games until there was no ground left to stand on. Eventually he got around to telling me why he called.

“We need a date. You’ve been taking your time on planning and I’m becoming impatient. So we’re going to set up a goal that we can work toward, and I’m hiring a coordinator.”

Fucking wedding talk. Shirking my duties as a blushing bride to be, I haven’t made any tangible progress on this woefully arranged marriage. Fleetingly, I thought through my options: butter him up with my best seduction act, run home in compliance like a dutiful wife, and the one I chose.

“I’m not coming home.”

Claire glanced over at me. She couldn’t hear what Craig was saying, but she could read my body language. As it pertains to the ruse, this was the first time I declined to contort myself into this thing he wanted me to become. That wasn’t going to fly without consequences, and the tension in my back and sweat forming at my brow made that clear.

“Ryan,” he said softly.

My stomach dropped. He almost never called me that anymore.

“I think you’re confused,” he continued.

“No. I’m done. I have things to do.”

“You don’t mean that.” His voice was tinged with a mixture of sadness and resentment.

“I do.”

“You’re emotional right now. Claire is filling your head with garbage and you’re spiraling again.”

“I’m not spiraling. I’m just not doing this today.”

“That’s impossible. You love me,” the latter claim carried with it a sense of unease. “You’re just resisting because change scares you.”

For a split second, he doubted that, and he wasn’t particularly confident.

Maybe his power to inflict consequences was more limited than he thought. Maybe he could see that his grasp loosened every time I acted like myself, the person he claimed to want. I had a life. I had friends. Friends that were completely my own, relationships nursed from the body of a woman that no one knew. I had a job that I liked and school was going well. And that night, I had plans.

“I have to go,” I said.

“No, you don’t.” Craig was getting desperate. He’d find some way to punish me later. Maybe he’d punish Tina because he knew someone else’s suffering was a better motivator to someone with a shred of empathy, unlike him. But Tina and I both molded an existence worth living in these new lives, and we could always do it again. I didn’t care. For the first time, his power didn’t scare me. So I hung up, and spent the day with Claire before hanging out with my friends in a life that I made worth living.

Reposted for better title & formatting.

To start: my swap stories are almost always permanent or at least have an unknown/uncertain timeframe. I love when characters are incentivized to act within all the inherited aspects of their new identities—no one knows who you really are within your new body. You need to reluctantly keep up appearances, no matter how cringe, emasculating, or uncomfortable it is. You study past text conversations and listen to archived Snapchat videos to understand how to text & speak. You go through social media posts and comments to gather a sense of your new wardrobe, social reputation, romantic history/status, and friend groups. You practice using your new name to introduce yourself properly and reluctantly choose outfits for different events you never even committed to going to. You explore your new media tastes/consumptions—checking out playlists on their Spotify, recently watched shows on HBO or Prime, or your Tiktok FYP/Youtube recommended. Maybe you even find an Instagram post of your new body in tight leggings and a crop top, slapping you in the face with the realization that everyone has always seen you that way and you will need to mimic it eventually, down to the outfit and the pose.

I love to strike a balance between “blending into” your new life for things to run smoothly, while maintaining some parts of yourself within. Like recognizing that everything you have to do to be this person is uncomfortable or emasculating, but it’s impossible to change their life or convince others who you really are! Further, physical changes like being much shorter, having curves, or having a higher-pitched voice makes you communicate and interact with others differently. Although you recognize these external changes have caused internal changes in yourself, you can’t stop it without creating problems in your new life. Feel free to DM if you enjoy similar aspects of swapping. I love both M2F & F2M!

I have been compelled by this idea lately: I play in a men’s soccer league that is mostly filled with Mexican & Venezuelan teams. I am a white guy and my team is one of the only mostly-white squads. A lot of our opponents draw crowds (25-50 people) full of their kids, girlfriends, wives, siblings, and parents. It’s such a blast!

We were completely outmatched our first season, but through a few years of practice and experience, we’ve become one of the best squads. Although everyone is a nice overall, our opponents were definitely nicer and warmer when they were kicking our asses lol.

The girlfriend/wife or sister of one of our rivals tries to sabotage our team. She uses some unknown magic or tech that will “impact the bodies” of me and my best teammates. She figures that it would make us fatigued, less coordinated, or forget how to play properly. However, it didn’t work on championship night, so she figured it was an online hoax.

The next morning, she wakes up in an unfamiliar, dome-shaped bedroom. Alone in the bed, she wiggles around and slowly feels everything off. Shaggy bedhead that does not go below her neck. Stubbed facial hair and a sharp jawline. Tight chest and hairy, muscular arms. Pale skin. And a…morning situation she has never experienced before screaming for attention in her lower region. She accidentally swapped our bodies!

Meanwhile, I wake up on the south side of town, equally shocked/scared/confused. If she was the partner of my rival, maybe I wake up with his tatted arms wrapped around me, feeling his “morning situation” against my sleeping shorts or sweatpants as he stays asleep. I need to slowly slip away to the bathroom and figure out who the fuck I was now. The first mirror reveal will be devastating, scary, and humiliating as I feel my new face, adjust to my new height, and notice…other changes let’s just say! If it was a sister who tried to sabotage our team instead, maybe I end up as a bratty little latina who is college-aged or mid-20s. Maybe this happens to a few of my teammates too!

I don’t have all the details but it’s been swirling in my head. I also have references but I do not like to publicly post them.

Please let me know what you think. I have a ton of other scenarios with similar set ups—a jealous ex swapping me and a ditzy sorority girl out of revenge, a coworker who is a mother (35-39 y/o) stealing my body because she is jealous of my freedom, or a burnout cashier at my local gas station (27-32 y/o) swapping our souls upon exchanging polite goodbyes. In each of these, my character would need to fully adjust and continue living their life!!

Well, after reading some of the comments on my last post, I decided the mature thing to do was sit down with my wife and actually talk this through instead of just screaming at each other. You know, maybe even swap with each other, so she could get that idea out of her system. 

But honestly, I’m not sure I feel better.

At first she tried explaining why she did the swap with William. She said after our son left for college she started feeling old in a way she never had before. According to her, being in a 19-year-old body again made her feel energetic, bold, young, all of that. And honestly, part of me could understand that. I’m getting older too. I see the gray hairs and wrinkles every morning myself. I can understand the temptation of wanting to feel young again.

But then we got into the part I was actually afraid to ask about.

I asked her directly if she was aware that William was masturbating in her body while they were swapped. Honestly, I hated even asking the question out loud. She got really quiet for a while before finally admitting yes, she did, and that she wasn’t angry. She kept saying it “wasn’t part of the original plan” but that things just “got weird” because “they were both curious”.

“Both?” I asked. I was scared to even follow up. But at that point the question had been eating at me ever since she first confessed everything. I was afraid where the conversation was going.

I asked her if she did the same thing while she was inside William’s body.

She admitted she did.

I honestly don’t even know how to explain how that felt to hear. It was already bad enough knowing there was another guy walking around in my wife’s body, seeing her naked, touching her body, staring at himself in the mirror. But hearing my wife admit she touched another man’s penis honestly made something in me snap a little.

And somehow it gets worse.

I found out this wasn’t going to be a one time thing. They swapped again this past weekend. Which means while I was sitting there trying to process all of this, William was back in my wife’s body again like nothing had even happened. I spent all three nights sleeping on the couch because I genuinely couldn’t stand being near her body with him inside. It’s so traumatic hearing her moanings, but knowing there is a man inside.

But this morning I broke and finally told our son everything. He was furious, especially because this is his roommate and supposedly one of his best friends. Apparently William’s girlfriend (I’ll call her Miranda for privacy) had absolutely no idea any of this was going on either. My son gave me her contact info, and after talking to her for a while, she’s just as angry as I am. She considers this cheating too.

Now Miranda wants revenge. Honestly? Part of me does too.

So despite a lot of people warning me not to escalate this, me and her are planning to swap too using the app. It’s supposed to happen in a few hours and we’ll stay swapped for the whole week.

Maybe this is a terrible idea. Maybe I’m just angry and trying to hurt my wife back. I honestly don’t even recognize myself right now.

And yeah, before people ask, I already know how weird this sounds. She’s basically my son’s age. I feel weird about that too. I’ve never even used this app before and now suddenly I’m about to spend a week in the body of a college-aged girl because my marriage apparently turned into some insane sci-fi disaster.

But after hearing my wife casually admit she spent the weekend touching another man’s penis while wearing his body, part of me wants her to understand what this feels like from the other side.

I don’t know. I genuinely can’t tell if this is me standing up for myself or just me turning into the exact same kind of person I’ve been angry at all week. Maybe this makes me a creep too now.

So I guess I’m asking: am I completely losing my mind here? Is this revenge, cheating, both, neither? Should I call this whole thing off before I make everything even worse? And if I actually go through with this… how the hell am I even supposed to act around Miranda while we’re swapped? Any tips from people who’ve actually used this app before?

I guess we’ll see how “funny and harmless” this app still seems to them next Friday.

It’s been nine months. Long enough for a new human to gestate, which is basically what I’ve done too. Just two decades late and in one of the worst ways possible. But it’s not all bad, I guess.

I got a new job and started school, which gives me more time away from Craig. Since Tina walked off with the benefits of years of my hard work, I figured I might as well give college another shot. At least this time I know what I’m doing. I picked a more marketable major, landed an internship, and started building something that actually feels like mine.

Now I get to act like myself over half the time. Even better, I have my own friends. Hanging with the guys is surprisingly weirder than with the ladies. Dudes think I’m “not like other girls” because of the basketball shorts, video games, and sports, but the girls think of me as just another woman.

During this time I reconnected with a girl I used to talk to. Her name is Claire. She’s cute and it bums me out that I didn’t make something of our time together when I was still myself, but she’s a good friend. She doesn’t condone “Tina’s” cheating and has no idea that I have never actually cheated in my entire life. All this probably precludes me from telling her how I feel. Worse, I forgot to take off my engagement ring one day and she practically leapt out of her skin with joy. She asked me to tell her everything: how the planning was going, if I was “so, so excited”, and if there was anything she could do to help. And then it slipped.

“I don’t want to marry him.”

She tilted her head. I could practically see the rolodex full of platitudes scrolling through her brain. Nothing cropped up.

“You don’t want to marry him? Why?”

My mouth spoke before I could think. I had no idea how much this would fuck everything up. I told her about how Craig controlled what I wore, how I behaved, and how he pushed for sex I didn’t want. I told her that he threatened me, although I had the presence of mind not to say what exactly those threats were, and that I had no idea how to get out. I cried. She held me. When I was ready, she went over strategies and statistics:

“It takes an average of seven times to leave.”

“Build a go-bag, gather your documents, stash away cash.”

“Leaving is the most dangerous part. I can help you.”

She didn’t know that helping was probably one of the most dangerous things to do. We weren’t just messing with some possessive boyfriend here. We were facing something sinister. Leaving might be dangerous for me, but my absence wouldn’t stop Craig from escalating. This wasn’t a problem escape could solve. It needed a fix and I needed someone- anyone- to be in my corner.

“I need to tell you something…”

If anyone thought Tina was crazy, I was probably about to confirm it. After months of a friendship built on lies, I wanted to tell Claire who I really was.

“I’m not Tina. I’m Ryan.”

She didn’t believe me.

Is it weird that I’m not really trans or anything or gay but I like the idea of swapping and taking over someone’s life as a girl. It’s always been a thing for me ever since I was little and I watched she Zow and the scooby doo movie and stuff but I never thought too hard about it. I love my life how it is it’s just kinda like a dirty little secret. I’m a straight man btw I just think it’s kinda hot. Any suggestions or anything?

(Three months later)

Hey, it’s been a while. Things have changed, some for the better, others for worse.

I’ll start with the bad stuff: This is probably permanent. I will likely spend the rest of my days as a woman with a displaced identity and crippling gender dysphoria, bereft of the friends and family I had to leave behind, and approaching the looming threat of being chained in misery via matrimony. Yeah, I’m going to be a bride. We’ll get to that later.

The better: Given that my old life is unrecoverable, I’m building a new one. It took a few weeks, but after a while I was able to leave the house outside of just scuttling like a mouse to Tina’s job. I searched through her documents and set up a savings account as her, redid her budget, enrolled in college, and moved some things around for the future’s sake. Turns out Tina’s parents bankroll her apartment, so I’m a doting daughter now too. I even made friends. I act more like myself around them, which is nice, but have to maintain Tina’s demeanor around Craig, her friends and family, and at her work. It’s like I’m living two lives.

Born one person, grown up as another. Ah, I don’t like thinking about it. I’m excellent at being Tina and that’s a mindfuck I can’t seem to overcome.

Things with Craig have been awful, and he’s getting worse. I think I mentioned last time that he demanded I wear some red dress. After the threats he pulled, I dug it out of the trash and washed it. He later arrived at the apartment to a “beautiful brunette” in a bright cocktail dress and a full face of makeup that I spent four hours reproducing from YouTube tutorials. I didn’t even let on that my ass cheeks constantly peeked out, my bra hurt my shoulders, and that the poor excuse for a dress practically cut off my circulation despite the fact that I’m tiny “in all the right places”. Craig also made sure to remind me that I’m curvy in all the right places, which turned my stomach but gave me an idea.

When he half dragged me to the bedroom in order to “take the next step”, I caressed his face, pressed my body against his, and whispered, “You’ll be the first man I’ve ever made love to.” My voice was almost exactly like a Disney princess but my body language resembled a pin-up model. I feigned innocence. “I want it to be special,” I breathed, “I want to give myself to you after you become my husband.” I looked up at him from beneath my eyelashes and I could feel the heat emanating from him.

The argument can be made that I brought this upon myself. The idea was to buy time. It wasn’t a good idea. A week later, Craig got down on one knee and proposed in the middle of an art museum. Tina loved museums. I did not. Craig is really blurring the boundary between me and her but I guess that’s his point.

With all the onlookers and my inner panic, I said yes. Now I’m looking for dresses because that’s the thing that can be stretched the longest, hopefully. When Craig is over (finally keeping distance so as to preserve my virtue) I conspicuously build Pinterest boards and look at dresses. He thinks I’m dead set on planning, and I can make that take a while, I hope.

After the red dress debacle I went to Tina. Desperate times and all that. She admitted to me that she didn’t really want to spend the rest of her life as a man, but Craig threatened to put her into an even worse body if she didn’t comply. Clearly there’s a set of different standards between us, because she gets to flit around like a flamboyant cheerleader and I’m stuck in “hot girl mode”. Of course she was more than happy to throw all of that in my face. She prattled on about how much she loved my success, strength, and how open her future is. Each bullshit celebratory statement was punctuated by her calling me “honey” and “girlie” in the most disdainful way possible. I reminded her that she could spare me some salt in the wound and she told me that this was my fault to begin with. That this wouldn’t have happened if I never told Craig about the cheating. I think she’s wrong, but I understand.

And then she said that she had no intention of ever allowing us to switch back, even if the spell materialized right in front of her.

“It did something to Craig,” she told me. “He wasn’t always like this, he was a normal, funny guy. But once he started messing with this occult stuff… it’s like it’s taking over him and I’m not opening that door for me. I’d rather be you than end up back in my body warped and evil. We’re going to have to accept this. I suggest you do so.”

I don’t want to accept this. I’m good at it, but that almost makes all of this worse.

Defeated, I went home and stared at the ceiling for what felt like hours.

I wish I could say Tina was wrong, but Craig changed drastically, and this new version of him was becoming more unhinged by the second. Maybe messing with this stuff would only make things worse for us. Maybe creating a future as Tina is the only real way to have some sort of life. Or maybe there’s another way.

I know its a clunky question, but I want to know from you.

We all have an idea to have a body swap in our favorite media, but what is the media that you don't want a body swap to be in it.

For me, its kinda hard to think of one, maybe some cartoon films that i watched as a kid.

But what was is your piece of media that you don't want body swaps to be featured in?

I got a vague idea for a found footage film that revolves around a body swap, maybe its a vacation gone wild or something along those lines.

I know found footage movies are usually horror films but I love would love more genre delving into this style of filmmaking.

But am wondering if you guys would love a found footage body swap film

Ryan here, and I hate myself.

To make things clear: no, I didn’t fuck Craig. I never thought I’d be ecstatic to experience a period, but it arrived to the rescue. The metaphorical mutilation of my manhood stared back at me in the form of blood in my underwear and whispered, “I’m here. You have seven days of excuses. Use them wisely.”

Metaphorically speaking, of course.

Craig knocked on the door around seven. I hadn’t left the apartment. Whenever I manage to leave, Craig berates me for wearing jeans or sweats when I “should” be wearing sundresses. Because there is nothing better than wind freely blowing in between my legs. It’s embarrassing. Meanwhile, Tina gets to walk around in my body with makeup and pants so tight I’ll end up with no fertility. Suddenly “Ryan” calls everyone “girlie” and “babe”. But I’m stuck acting like her and every second is a humiliation ritual. Over dinner, I talked about this with Craig, asking why I got such a shit end of the deal when I never did anything wrong, and he said, “Because everything is perfect now.”

What the fuck.

And this is where I nearly threw myself off the balcony. I wasn’t going to get anywhere with Craig. I’ve reasoned with him before, pleaded, got on my knees and begged, shouted, threatened, and even tried hitting him. Nothing worked. I was “Tina” and eventually I would have to “learn to accept it”.

So I leaned into it. I led him to the bedroom, softened my voice, and cooed, “You’re right.” I choked down a gag. “I’ve been running from us because nothing has ever felt so perfect.” He reached for my hand and I flinched. I had to cover my ass so I said, “Sorry, I guess I still have to get used to your touch. We have plenty of time for that now.” I faked a smile. Every word I’d just vomited up was ripped straight from a romcom, but I thought the lies worked.

He kissed me. I kissed him back with eyes closed so he wouldn’t see the tears. Fuck this new life. Fuck this body. Fuck Craig. I want to be myself again, so I need him to spill the spell.

“But,” I frowned, “if I get to have a new body, maybe you should join the fun?” I put my hand a little too high up his thigh and touched my lips against his ear. I whispered, “What if we got a new body for you? Then we could forge our own path. Together.” His fingers circled my inner thigh. It was violating and I couldn’t even react.

He got way too close and responded, “No.”

What? I was taken aback. Did I mess it up?

“Why not?”

“I want you to love me as I am.”

“Why can’t you love me as I am? I mean was? Why do I have to be this?”

“So I can put my dick in you.”

WHAT THE FUCK.

My ruse collapsed.

“What the fuck, man? You think I fucking want this? To be some girl? Craig, I’m missing my fucking dick, my life got handed over to some cheating dumbass, and everything I ever worked for is gone so you can get your dick wet? What the fuck is wrong with you?”

Craig stared at me. My mask came off but his response was a cold, eerie calm. He stood up, towering over me, and said, “You’re so emotional right now.” He raised a brow. “Are you on your period?”

Jesus. The blood flowing out of me had nothing to do with my understandable distress. I was sick of this.

“Emotional? I have someone else’s uterus!”

“You have a better life.”

No. No I didn’t. I was short and weak and saddled with an aching back from stupid boobs and long hair that got stuck in my armpits when I reached up, and I had to reach for everything because I was so fucking short. My prospects had gone from a high salary career or promising graduate program to a shitty job in a failing bookstore.

He rolled his eyes like I was the irrational one. “Tina, be honest with yourself.” I’m not fucking Tina. “You were drowning before this happened. Student debt, anxiety attacks, no real direction. You spent your entire life hiding because you’re terrified of being average.”

That knocked the air out of me because those were things I told him in confidence.

He stepped closer and tucked a strand of hair behind my ear. I jerked away while he went on with verbal punches to my gut. “Tina wasted this body whoring around. You’re smarter than she is. Kinder. Prettier when you stop fighting it.” He smiled. “I fixed your life.”

“You ruined my life!”

“Alright woman, I need you to understand something,” he sighed, “I have been very patient while you adjust, but I’m done entertaining tantrums.”

My stomach dropped.

“Now,” he threatened, “Your cooperation determines how difficult this gets.”

“You said you loved me.” I stuttered, toeing the line between playing a role and bewilderment.

“I do.”

“You drugged me and stole my body.”

“And I’d do it again.”

I broke out in a cold sweat. He looked around the apartment, grabbed the flowers he brought me off the kitchen counter, and dropped them in the trash.

“You’ll call me tomorrow after you calm down,” he said. “And next time I come over, I expect you to be wearing the red dress I bought you.”

After he left, I unloaded every ounce of nourishment inside of my body into the toilet, praying that I’d somehow vomit my way out of this hell I’m in. I need help.